Such stores as did move upon wheels, and not upon mule-back, were carried on Portuguese ox-waggons, to which Wellington was compelled to have recourse for want of better vehicles. These were very primitive structures—the sides of wicker work, the wheels made of solid circles of wood bounded with iron, turning axle and all, which made their grinding noise almost intolerable. The excruciating thrills caused to the ear by a train of such carts are mentioned with disgust by nearly every Peninsular diarist, on his first introduction to life at the front. The only advantages of ox-waggons were that they were light, easy to repair, and specially built for the bad roads of the country: moreover, every peasant knew how to drive them, or to mend them at a pinch. Their weak points were that they were intolerably slow—two miles an hour was a full allowance—and that they were too small to carry much. However, they had to serve for want of better vehicles—and the army could not have lived without their service. An immense amount of them were employed, some on regular and long terms of hire, as part of the permanent transport of the army, others in a more temporary way, by requisition from the district. These last were always difficult to manage; professional muleteers would not object to travel, but impressed peasants loathed quitting their own district, fearing that they might be taken far afield—perhaps into Spain—before they were released. They were always trying to abscond with their precious bullocks, abandoning the comparatively worthless cart and its stores. A picture of the sort may be taken from Hennegan’s lively narrative of a march in 1809, when he had to take an unwilling train of “embargoed” waggoners across the mountains of Northern Beira.
Desertion of Drivers
“Leaning on their oxen at nightfall, they contemplated in mute dismay on one side the gigantic hill which they had just descended, on the other the roaring torrent of the Douro, which in its impetuous course seemed to threaten with destruction the temerity that would brave its power. The Santa Marias of some were answered by the more emphatic carajos! of others, but even these died away before the necessities of the moment, and unyoking the oxen, to afford them the shelter of trees, the drivers spread their large cloaks in the empty sheds, and soon in sleep seemed to forget their disappointment. The poor men, taken from their homes for our service, risked in the loss of their oxen the only means of support for themselves and families.
“The following morning, however, presented a curious scene. There stood the wains, securely packed, but looking as if the earth had brought them forth, for no vestige remained of the means by which they had been brought to this lonely spot. The rumour of the proximity of the French had determined these Portuguese on sacrificing the wains, if only they could ensure the preservation of themselves and oxen. What was now to be done?”[318]
As a matter of fact, the non-plussed guardian of the deserted convoy had to remain motionless for many days, risking the possible arrival of the French, till at last he procured boats on the Douro, and shipped his charge down to Oporto. Hennegan’s peasants got away with their bullocks—he and his escort were evidently sleepy and unsuspecting: but often a good watch was kept on the teams, and sentries placed over them. In such cases, if the weather was bad, or the French too near, the drivers would often sacrifice even their loved beasts, and simply abscond themselves, abandoning their means of livelihood.
It says much for the general zeal of the Commissariat Department that, even with such difficulties about them, they usually succeeded in keeping the army supplied with food. Occasionally there were desperate pinches of starvation, when the army had out-marched its convoys—this, for example, happened on the Alva in March, 1811, when half of the army, in pursuit of Masséna, had to stop dead for several days, because their rapid advance had left the slow-moving mule-trains several marches behind. To press the French would have been most profitable—but if the troops had gone on, through the depopulated land before them, they must have perished of sheer want of food, and Wellington reluctantly halted till the convoys began to creep up to the front. Another period of empty stomachs was seen during the retreat from Burgos, from the opposite cause; forced to give back, Wellington started his train betimes for Ciudad Rodrigo, to get it out of the proximity of the oncoming enemy. Hence the rear divisions, who had to contain the pursuers and to move slowly, found, when they had eaten what was in their haversacks, that the convoys were all several marches ahead of them. They suffered terribly, and existed for two days mainly on acorns gleaned from the oak forests through which they were marching. But mischances of this kind were hardly to be considered the fault of the Commissariat.
The Resources of the Country
As I have already had to remark, the duty of the officers of this department did not merely consist in bringing up and distributing food forwarded from the base depôts. They had also, as a subsidiary resource, to get what they could out of the countryside. A good assistant-commissary was always casting about, through the villages on either side of the route of the brigade to which he was attached, to find cattle and corn that could be bought. He was forced to pay for them, since Wellington strictly forbade requisition without value given. When the commissary had dollars the matter was not so difficult, for the peasants were generally ready to sell. But when, as often happened, the military chest was empty, and payment could only be made in vales—paper promises to pay—the inhabitants soon got wind of the fact, hid their corn, and drove their oxen up into the hills. The good commissary was the man, who, under such circumstances could discover and get possession of the concealed resources of the land. But even if there was money in hand, a good deal of tact was required in dealing with the natives, and it was not every one who would make the most of his store of cash or paper for the benefit of his brigade. How the ingenious man worked may be gathered from a note of Commissary Dallas, dealing with a march through Northern Andalusia in 1812.[319]
“Having made careful inquiries as to the properties and farms which lay at some distance to right or left of the road, our plan was to seek them, not saying a word of our object, but simply asking hospitality. I do not remember that this was ever refused, though sometimes we failed to gain anything. We usually began with talking of the horrors of the French, of which Andres had many terrible chapters to relate. This led to expressions of grief as to the ravages that the enemy had made: by degrees we introduced a word of rejoicing that some people had so well known how to hide their property from such rapacious robbers. It often happened that at the word esconder, to hide, there were indications on the countenances of some of the party which led to further inquiries. On many occasions we drew out hints from various members of the community which enabled us to jump to conclusions, which surprised other members, as to the concealment of stores of wheat, barley, Indian corn, etc. The difficulty was to obtain access to the supplies, when we had become aware of their existence; but I had power to give a good price, and was armed with plenary authority of Spanish officials to say that my drafts would be honoured in due course.
“An incident or two will illustrate the manner in which we got supplies. At one distant solitary house of poor appearance Andres discovered that, while everything looked poverty-stricken about the place, there was somewhere in a thick wood a barn which contained concealed stores. I told the mistress of the house of the very high price that I would give for wheat, Indian corn, or forage. In the grey October dawn I was awoke by her husband, who told me he could supply what I wanted, if I would give a certain price, which he named. I said that I must see the supplies before I gave money. He bade me rise, and he would show me. He led me two miles to a thick wood, in which was a deep ravine; here he brought me safely to a receptacle of much hidden store, which I took at his own price, and gave him the proper document. In one part of the Sierra Morena we heard of a considerable flock of sheep secreted in the depth of a forest. I obtained the permission of the owner to possess them for a certain price if I could get them, for he himself could not point out the spot where they were to be found. After gathering what information I could, I set forth in the hope of finding them, and did so by following a track of sheep till I arrived in the middle of the flock. I told the two shepherds that I had purchased them—they were doubtful and one very refractory. But at last one of them drove the sheep to the open plain outside the forest, and then disappeared among the trees with his dog, leaving me to drive the flock as I could. It was no easy task—but I got them into an enclosure a considerable way off.”[320]